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We can scarcely do better, in fine, than follow Plato.
Thus:
In the universe as a whole there must necessarily be such a
degree of solidity, that is to say, of resistance, as will ensure
that the earth, set in the centre, be a sure footing and support
to the living beings moving over it, and inevitably communicate
something of its own density to them: the earth will possess
coherence by its own unaided quality, but visibility by the
presence of fire: it will contain water against the dryness which
would prevent the cohesion of its particles; it will hold air to
lighten its bulky matters; it will be in contact with the
celestial fire- not as being a member of the sidereal system but
by the simple fact that the fire there and our earth both belong
to the ordered universe so that something of the earth is taken
up by the fire as something of the fire by the earth and
something of everything by everything else.
This borrowing, however, does not mean that the one thing
taking-up from the other enters into a composition, becoming an
element in a total of both: it is simply a consequence of the
kosmic fellowship; the participant retains its own being and
takes over not the thing itself but some property of the thing,
not air but air's yielding softness, not fire but fire's
incandescence: mixing is another process, a complete surrender
with a resultant compound not, as in this case, earth- remaining
earth, the solidity and density we know- with something of fire's
qualities superadded.
We have authority for this where we read:
"At the second circuit from the earth, God kindled a light": he
is speaking of the sun which, elsewhere, he calls the all-glowing
and, again, the all-gleaming: thus he prevents us imagining it to
be anything else but fire, though of a peculiar kind; in other
words it is light, which he distinguishes from flame as being
only modestly warm: this light is a corporeal substance but from
it there shines forth that other "light" which, though it carries
the same name, we pronounce incorporeal, given forth from the
first as its flower and radiance, the veritable "incandescent
body." Plato's word earthy is commonly taken in too depreciatory
a sense: he is thinking of earth as the principle of solidity; we
are apt to ignore his distinctions and think of the concrete
clay.
Fire of this order, giving forth this purest light, belongs to
the upper realm, and there its seat is fixed by nature; but we
must not, on that account, suppose the flame of earth to be
associated with the beings of that higher sphere.
No: the flame of this world, once it has attained a certain
height, is extinguished by the currents of air opposed to it.
Moreover, as it carries an earthy element on its upward path, it
is weighed downwards and cannot reach those loftier regions. It
comes to a stand somewhere below the moon- making the air at that
point subtler- and its flame, if any flame can persist, is
subdued and softened, and no longer retains its first intensity,
but gives out only what radiance it reflects from the light
above.
And it is that loftier light- falling variously upon the stars;
to each in a certain proportion- that gives them their
characteristic differences, as well in magnitude as in colour;
just such light constitutes also the still higher heavenly bodies
which, however, like clear air, are invisible because of the
subtle texture and unresisting transparency of their material
substance and also by their very distance.
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